


Memento Mori

by Cosmichemist



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Connor Deserves Happiness, F/M, Falling In Love, Meet-Cute, Protective Connor, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmichemist/pseuds/Cosmichemist
Summary: After rescuing a young woman named Mabel, Connor unexpectedly learns that the fate of his village rests in her hands. Who is this woman? How has she found the location of his tribe? And why did fate draw them so closely together?





	Memento Mori

"Hey, you! Stop!"  
Mable had collected about an ounce of tree bark inside of a wool pouch before she heard this command and a set of footsteps approaching behind her. Instinct kicked into gear and forced Mabel to release her hunting knife she’d used to collect it. Her hope clattered to the ground along with the knife; she knew the moment she dropped it that her hope for survival had diminished if it were a Red Coat behind her. They were the law of the land, and well aware of their authority over the Colonists. Their position afforded them the confidence to do whatever they damn near pleased. Few ever dared to stand up to the abuse. The British had the moon on a string, and they knew it. Mabel’s arms were in the air when she turned to greet the disturbance.  
“What’s a luffie like you sulking around this neck of the woods? State your business.” She felt her breath shrink in her chest and escape past her lips in a whimper. The man held his bayonet steady, its barrel pointed directly at her chest. The deep crimson of his jacket revealed his affiliation, and Mabel thought she might faint as blood rushed towards her head- sending her thoughts swimming and producing a feeling of weightlessness within her.  
“I’m… I am foraging for herbs, Sir.” She said.  
"Herbs, aye?" He asked, lowering his weapon. His hand scratched his chin and his eyes passed over her in a wary manner. "Go ahead, then. Spill your bag on the ground, let's see what you've got."  
Mabel paused and gripped the straps of her satchel tight. She had almost told him ‘no’, the bag held many medical instruments and tonics that were damn near irreplaceable to her. Money was scarce, and Mabel had made most of everything she owned by hand.  
“I don’t have time to wait around all day.” The Soldier resumed his leisurely pace towards her, “You’d better show me, Lass. And you best do it quickly or there’s gonna be nothing stopping me from helping myself.”  
Mabel clutched her bag against her chest. "I'll... I'll show you,” She agreed. "But only if you give me your word that you will not harm me. I need what's in this bag to help some people from a nearby village. They're depending on me. I promised them.”  
"Aye. That I can do, Lass. On the condition, you comply with my questions." The soldier smiled, showing off a flash of his gnarled and yellowed teeth. When he’d come close enough to her, he swung his bayonet over his shoulder and stuck out his hand. His fingers wiggled impatiently to signal her to hand her bag over to him. Mabel obeyed with a prominent note of apprehension. She had placed the bag oh so gently into his grasp, and upon receiving it, he gripped into the material and snatched it away savagely. His stubby fingers (the nails were caked with traces of dirt and gunpowder) tore open the button with an audible rip of the fabric. And as he flipped the pouch open to peek inside, his brows knitted together on his face. “What are you doing with all of this shite?”  
“I’m making a medicine to cure the sick,” Mabel said softly, trying not to watch him while he lifted a bottled tonic from one of the pockets.  
The soldier’s eyes were on the bottle as he swirled the liquid and observed the sediment that had collected at its bottom. “For whom?” He asked.  
“I… Uhm…” Mabel went mute as she remembered the promise she’d asked of him. Promises meant everything to her. Mabel never broke one. However, she realized how naive she had been to ever hold the childish belief that a Red Coat could be a man of his word. This man would kill her, take advantage of her, or perhaps do both- whether she told the truth or not. If anyone knew of her affiliation with the natives, and how she intended to aid them, it had the potential to destroy more than just her own life.  
“Don’t you even think about lying to me, Lass. I can see you thinking about it.”  
“…There’s a village that is in desperate need of medical attention.” Mabel Said.  
“Aye, is that so? And what ails them?”  
“They seem to have contracted yellow fever, Sir.” She said.  
“And who diagnosed them? Be it you, or a Doctor?”  
“It was me, Sir.”  
The bottle in his hands soared across the clearing and exploded against a nearby rock. The shatter sent a jolt of panic through Mabel that expressed itself in a small flinch and gasp. The soldier’s expression twisted into disgust. “A lady does not meddle in the realm of a man!” The soldier slipped out another bottle and threw it with a visible effort against the rock — snap, crash. “You exist to bare us children and make homes- not to treat the sick!” snap, crash. “Tell me what it is you’re truly doing, and perhaps I won’t exhaust your supply of this rubbish!”  
The sharpness of his tongue cut through Mabel and startled her into silence. Her fingers pressed against her lips, and silent tears traced the delicate curves of her cheeks. For the first time in what felt like a long time, she did not know how to handle this situation. Each word he said pressed salt into the wounds of her past- and she did not know how to make him stop, not while her knife was laying against the forest floor.  
The soldier, in his anger, did indeed toss every last bottle out of her bag. Finding it empty, he threw it against the ground and smashed his foot down on it and crushed it into the dust. Mabel felt her stomach churn instantly with the sight. The herbs… All of the herbs she’d spent hours tracking and plucking were gone- mashed and bruised beneath this bastard’s feet. Without them, people were going to die. Horrified by the soldier’s actions, Mabel took two steps back and found herself pressed against the tree whose bark she’d taken minutes before. Her hands went over her lips and she sobbed, allowing the tree to take the burden of supporting her weight (her knees could no longer do so without buckling).  
“I know what you are!” The soldier declared, turning back towards her. He picked up the bag and flung it over at her- and Mabel held her hands up to block the pitiful throw. “Out here collecting herbs, carrying all of those potions with you, yammering about some hysterical nonsense about saving lives… You’re a filthy, conniving witch if I ever saw one! All of the shite in that bag was enough proof I’d ever need to condemn you!” The soldier ran over to her and pinned her wrist high above her head- and Mabel’s cry reached the treetops when the tree bark dug into and under her skin. If he applied any more pressure against the joint, Mabel knew it’d snap it in two. “You’re probably out there using your magic to conspire some plot against the crown! Not under my watch, you wretch!” She knew his face had been inches from her own, judging by the sour scent of his breath wafting against her face after each of his words. “Do you know what we do with Witches ‘round these parts?” Mabel opened her eyes to his icy gaze- and instantly she knew his intentions had been set. He would not hear a counter-argument to be made for her innocence, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t attempt one last desperate grasp at freedom.  
“I.. I’m not a witch!” Mabel did her best to withhold a fresh wave of tears- less she become a blubbering mess. “Those were medicine tonics and salves my grandmother has passed down to me, I made them to care for the sick in the village. I swear this on my life, Sir!”  
"Where I come from, it's a trip to the gallows." The soldier had ignored each word that came from her lips, finding far too much enjoyment in his own sense of sick amusement. "I learned the hard way that how you’re raised shouldn’t define you. I’ve always felt more of a pull towards the tactics they used in Salem. It'd be righteous to give you a taste of your eternal damnation in hell by settin' you ablaze."  
"Please, Sir!" Mabel's resolve crumbled. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she allowed herself to openly cry.  
“Go ahead, Lassie. There’s no one else around to hear you. Let it out.” He said as his fingers slipped around her neck and began to squeeze. Mabel knew that her pleading would be the sweetest sound to his ears- it’d make torturing her even more enjoyable. Even though she knew it would have been better to remain calm and avoid feeding into his desire, Mable couldn’t find the courage to remain strong. She couldn’t overpower him now, or fight back. Her knife was long gone. She only had her voice to use for her aid, and so she used it. “No!” Her hands began to claw and strip the skin from his wrists, the marks on his wrists began to bead with his blood. “They… Those people… need me!” Mabel gasped, “P-please!”  
Fresh tears spilled from her eyes as she closed them. His grip tightened and crushed her throat, silencing every sound she made except for the garbled wheeze produced as she fought to breathe. In this moment, Mabel prayed to a being holier than her that she might die a quick and painless death right now; rather than being burnt at a stake. Her fight for air became a small and final sob that depleted her lungs of oxygen. Mabel sputtered for air seconds later… and just as it felt like the darkness would reach out to claim her; she felt the soldier’s fingers release her neck. Mabel grabbed her throat and wheezed, blinking her eyes open to see a man cloaked in white was laying the soldier quietly against the ground. The edge of the man’s tomahawk held a gleaming patch of fresh blood.  
Mabel froze against the tree, hardly able to believe some unknown hero had come to her rescue. What the Soldier had said was partial truth, there really shouldn’t have been anyone else in these woods for miles to come. Once he had passed his hand over the soldier’s eyes to close them, he stood and approached her slowly. The first thing she noticed that was odd about her savior was the stark contrast between his white cloak and his tanned skin. Her eyes shifted up to his face, drinking in the strong details of his cheek bones and his jaw- the features were unmistakable. This man, this hero, was a native himself.


End file.
